


desire for blue

by flirtingwithtrackers



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Mild Smut, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 03:33:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4044277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flirtingwithtrackers/pseuds/flirtingwithtrackers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bellamy is a dork and it gets him and clarke into an interesting situation</p><p>or, the one with sex pollen</p>
            </blockquote>





	desire for blue

**Author's Note:**

> for the wonderful [oktevian](http://oktevian.tumblr.com), who won a drabble in [my fic giveaway](http://clarkeslight.tumblr.com/post/116748946867)
> 
> prompt: bellarke + sex pollen

He had picked up a light blue flower on the walk back to camp after a successful hunting trip. There had been a luscious grove of bushes with bright blue flowers, red ridges expanding up from the yellow pollen centers to the dark blue tips. Bellamy had picked one after staring at them for a few moments, the soft blue near the center of the petals reminding him of Clarke’s eyes. He shoved the stem into his pocket quickly, hoping Miller wouldn’t notice—though the smirk at the edge of his mouth tells Bellamy he did not succeed.

After dropping the deer off, Bellamy makes his way towards the medbay, knowing Clarke will be monitoring a patient or busying herself with something—never letting herself slow down for too long. He’s surprised to find her alone, cleaning the hospital utensils, her mother and Jackson nowhere in sit. There are no patients, either; an anomaly in itself, but Bellamy sure isn’t going to complain.

He walks up behind Clarke slowly, hoping not to startle her. He coughs a few steps behind her, chuckling when she still jumps, almost dropping the clamps in her hands.

“Jesus, Bellamy,” she hisses. “You scared me!” She’s trying to look mad, but she’s not succeeding, her lips curling at the ends into a small smile.

Bellamy quickly reaches for the flower in his pocket, holding it out to her. Clarke’s smile widens as she grabs the flower from him, bringing it up to her nose to smell it. Bellamy nervously runs his fingers through his hair, just to have it fall back into his face immediately.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful,” Clarke says, searching for something to put the flower in. Bellamy smiles widely, a smile that is still in place when Clarke has turned back around to look at him. Her stomach drops at the sight, butterflies causing havoc inside. She walks back over to him, stopping to lean against the patient bed in front of him. They talk about the hunting trip, how the younger kids looked for berries and nuts while the older ones tracked.

Bellamy’s talking about the kill—proud of the kid who finally got the deer, his first—when he crosses his arms in front of him, his chest puffing up just a bit. Clarke’s eyes drift down to his arms—how his biceps are bulging under the short sleeves of his t-shirt, the veins running along his forearms, his large hands wrapped around the bottom of his upper arms to keep his arms across his chest. His pecs are also nicely defined in the blue shirt he’s wearing, framed by his toned biceps and his protruding collarbone. Clarke thinks back to the time those strong arms had been wrapped around her small frame not too long ago and her mouth goes dry.

She doesn’t realize he’s stopped talking, looking down at her with concern. He’s looking at her face, how her eyes are trained on his chest. Clarke was biting her lip, but she released the plump flesh of her bottom lip to draw her tongue across it, leaving it wet and shiny. Bellamy can’t take his eyes off her lips—how pink they are, how inviting they look when she’s not pursing them in frustration, the small mole just above her top lip, the little pink tip of her tongue. He coughs and looks away when Clarke finally looks up, startled by a small growl he doesn’t realize he had made.

Bellamy looks back at Clarke to see that they’re standing much closer together than he thought, her small frame practically under him as she stands inches away from him. She’s looking up at him now, her eyes dark, darting from his eyes to his lips every few moments. His jeans are starting to get a little tight as his skin starts to heat up, desire stirring underneath. He can feel his breath becoming more and more labored as he fights the urge to touch Clarke, to take her in his arms and feel her pressed up against him.

Clarke almost moans when Bellamy places a big hand on her upper arm. There’s an unbearable need burrowing deep down inside her, and the feel of his skin on hers sets it on fire. She closes her eyes when his grip tightens around her, his blunt nails pressing into the soft skin. She lets out a deep breath through her nose as she tries to restrain herself from touching him, even as every inch of her body screams in response.

He’s not sure if he’s keeping her at bay, holding her in place away from him, or if he’s going to pull her to him at any moment. In the end, it doesn’t matter because Clarke takes the final step, closing the distance. Bellamy’s arm instinctively lets go to wrap around her and Clarke is unable to contain her moan. The raw noise has Bellamy insufferably hard in his jeans, grabbing at her greedily, and crushing his mouth to hers. 

They melt into each other in a flurry of messy kisses and rushed fumbling, hands and lips trying to touch everywhere at once. Clarke nearly explodes when Bellamy’s hand makes its way into her jeans, touching her in places she had only dreamed of, stroking her fast and hard until she’s falling apart against the edge of the bed behind her, gripping the cushion to keep herself upright. Then Bellamy is tugging her jeans down, sucking at her neck and licking at the tops of her breasts.

Bellamy almost comes then and there when Clarke wraps a small hand around him once he’s pulled his jeans off, her hand quickly reaching into his boxers before he can get them off. He picks her up, siting her on the edge of the cot. With both hands braced on either side of her, he fucks into her hard until she’s coming, a mess of moans and whimpers. Bellamy doesn’t think about the fact that anyone could have come in, and that _everyone_ probably heard Clarke’s loud proclamations of pleasure, until they’re both breathing heavy and thinking too loudly with her forehead pressed to his shoulder as he leans against her, still cradled in the v of her thighs.

“What the fuck was that?” Bellamy blurts out after they’re both reasonably decent again, and regrets it immediately as hurt crossing Clarke’s face momentarily before she can train her face into a more neutral expression.

“No, no,” he scrambles, “I just meant…”

“No, don’t worry. I know what you meant,” Clarke stops his ramble before it begins. “It was a bit…”

“Rushed,” Bellamy supplies for her, but it’s more of a question.

“Impulsive,” she corrects.

They both stare at each other for a moment. Clarke is thinking, Bellamy can see the gears turning in her head. She quickly looks behind her, scrutinizing the blue flower sitting on the desk along the back wall. She walks towards it, being careful to hold it out and away from her as she picks it up. Clarke places it in a bag and starts walking towards the exit.

“Where are you going?” Bellamy asks, following her without a thought.

“To find Lincoln.”

Bellamy is a little bummed to find out that their first time was induced by a strange sex flower that acts as an aphrodisiac and enhances attraction when inhaled or consumed—which explains _a lot_ —but he’s happy to say that their second time definitely is _not_.

**Author's Note:**

> come cry with me on [tumblr](http://clarkeslight.tumblr.com) :))


End file.
